


Talk Less

by Adaarling



Series: College LamsBurr AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Trans Aaron Burr, assumed transphobia, non-binary Lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adaarling/pseuds/Adaarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is really a situation where it would have done Alexander some good to talk less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Less

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a headcanon that Burr was a first-generation Nigerian-American, and instead of working on my other stories, this happened first. Enjoy some angst!

Alexander had interrupted him three times in a debate about the legitimacy of decreasing social security, and that is around the time Aaron usually feels the intense urge to shut the underclassman up. Before, they would scream at each other until either Alexander or Aaron—depending on whose room was being used, or possibly both if it was the library—packed up their things in anger and stormed out. It was only last week that Alexander, with a wild look in his eyes, broke away from this routine by dragging Aaron forward as he had reached over to snatch up his notes, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and dragging him into a punishing kiss. They study exclusively in Aaron’s room, now, because it’s the only place they can get privacy away from their friends. At least Jefferson and Madison have the decency to knock.

“Don’t you,” Aaron gasps between kisses, “have manners?”

Alexander breaks away as if to say something, but it turns into a keen when Aaron catches his bottom lip in his teeth at the last second. “Don’t you have good opinions?” he manages to say, but the effect is lost in his pleasure-glazed expression. Aaron doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just trails down Alexander’s neck, more nips than kisses, and places his hand on Alexander’s inner thigh. Alexander bucks into his fingers, trying to move it higher, but Aaron won’t budge. Alexander groans.

This is somewhat new territory, somewhat because it was only yesterday that Alexander had worked himself over by grinding against Aaron’s thigh, mindless enough not to notice Aaron, himself, getting off; and sated enough, afterwards, to be placated by Aaron firmly, but not unkindly, stopping his roaming fingers. Now, he is less satisfied, clawing his fingers up and down Aaron’s back and digging bitten nails into his neck.

Not that Aaron doesn’t enjoy the attention. The sparks of pain traveling down his spine are pleasant enough, but he doesn’t feel a pressing desire to reach an orgasm today, so he focuses all of his attention on Alexander by finally placing his hand on the man’s full erection. Alexander’s mouth falls open in a sharp inhale, and his fingers tighten and release around Aaron’s shoulders. No other noise can be heard in the room outside of their heavy breathing, and Aaron marvels at finally finding a way to shut the infamous Hamilton up as he slowly unzips Alexander’s pants and reaches in to pull out his dick.

Alexander makes a little noise at that, a whimper, and curls around Aaron to drag him into a sloppy kiss that he doesn’t even have the power to fully participate in. His hands wander, but seem to always come back to the same position around Aaron’s shoulders, fingers spasming rhythmically. _As if he’s reaching for hair_ , Aaron thinks in amusement before carefully tracing the vein on the underside of Alexander’s erection.

Aaron is so focused on Alexander’s reactions, testing out different pressures and angles on his cock while trying to remain engaged in the kiss, that he completely misses Alexander’s hands slipping underneath his shirt and around to his chest. He doesn’t, however, miss the way Alexander completely tenses up.

He doesn’t immediately realize the problem, so he breaks away to ask at the same time that Alexander blurts out, “Is this a binder?”

Aaron’s muscles lock, and he carefully pulls away to look at Alexander’s face. “Yes,” he says.

Alexander opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, looking more and more distressed as time goes on before settling on _betrayal_. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t pertinent to know.” And damn, Aaron has slipped back into SAT vocabulary, and Alexander should know by now that this is one of Aaron’s more obvious tells that he’s getting upset.

Of course, he ignores this, so caught up within himself in the way that Aaron can’t stand. “Like hell it wasn’t!” Alexander explodes, releasing Aaron like he’s got the plague and pushing back onto the bed. “What the hell, man!”

“Alexander—” Aaron starts, but this seems to open up the floodgates, and the other man suddenly won’t _stop talking!_

“I cannot believe,” he says, as if Aaron hadn’t spoken, “that we’ve been doing _things_ for a _week_ —”

“Making out, Alexander? If you would just—”

“—and I’ve been hanging out with you for almost two months besides that, almost 24/7—”

“You mean harassing? Alexander just let me—”

“—and you don’t think it’s important enough to mention to me? Jesus, we almost had sex!”

And despite the fact that it is not exactly a secret around campus that he is trans, despite the fact that he has dealt with worse people and harsher words than Alexander has yet to throw, this feels a little too close to the transphobic accusations that had been thrown at Aaron in his first few disastrous relationships. Aaron feels his heart racing as if the walls are closing in around him, lungs curling in his chest. Alexander is still going, still raging about how cruel it was of Aaron to just _not tell him_ , as he had been purposefully mislead, but Aaron can’t handle it, not with his anxiety setting in and telling him that the threat is too real and too close. So he does the only thing he can think to do.

“Get out,” Aaron says.

Alexander stops, blinks, and says, “What?”

Aaron doesn’t hesitate. “ _Get out!_ ”

Alexander’s face looks stricken, then furious, then shutters closed in a way that Aaron thinks might spell consequences later. But there’s no time to backtrack—as if he’d want to anyway—as Alexander quietly does up his pants, grabs his things, and leaves the room, actions stilted and muted through Aaron’s panic, a quiet storm. For a long time afterwards, Aaron stares at his ceiling, breathes, and feels absolutely nothing.

\---

Aaron shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when Lafayette quite literally collides with him outside of his last class before lunch, but he still stumbles and almost drops his stuff in the hall.

“Burr!” Lafayette says, grinning just short of manic. “How have you been, monsieur?”

Aaron can already feel a headache coming on. “If this is about Hamilton, then I don’t want to talk about it.”

Because really, what else could it possibly be? As much as Aaron and Lafayette respect each other, they don’t often seek each other out for company. No, Lafayette is a part of Hamilton’s reckless crew, and Aaron has a reputation to uphold. In fact, their only common denominator as of late is Hamilton, who Aaron had not seen for almost two weeks since The Incident.

“Don’t be like this,” Lafayette pouts. “What if I wanted to ask past Thomas?”

“Ask _after_ Thomas,” Aaron corrects, crossing his arms. “And you have his number.” Aaron also knows for a fact that the two meet up biweekly to gossip in French, a tradition they’ve had since freshmen year.

Lafayette just stares at him, unwavering. Other students are starting to give them looks for blocking part of the hall. Aaron snaps. “Fine, at least let’s grab some lunch.”

“That sounds wonderful,” they coo, linking arms with Aaron and dragging him to the dining hall.

Aaron takes his time picking out his food. Lafayette simply grabs an apple, takes a particularly vicious bite out of it, and goes on to find them seats. Aaron still isn’t sure how much of it was for intimidation and how much is just their personality. He chooses a salad, something that he can eat quickly if he needs an out. Lafayette had found a table somewhat off to the side and sits rolling the apple between his hands. Aaron takes a fortifying breath before joining them.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Burr, Alexander is a mess.”

“He is always a mess.”

“Never like this,” Lafayette insists. When all Aaron does is purse his lips, keeping his eyes trained on the apple rolling on the table, they continue. “He has been very, how you say, snappish lately, but he would not tell us what had happened. It was only after Hercules noticed he had been hiding from you—”

“Ignoring me?”

“Hiding,” Lafayette says firmly. “He rarely leave his room, unless it is to be with John, Hercules, and I, and I do not think that he has been in the library in a month.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Well, after John offered to fight you”—Aaron rolls eyes; of course Laurens would want to fight for Hamilton’s honor—”Alexander finally told us that you had rejected him.”

“Rejected?”

“That is the word, oui, when you refuse, ah, sexual favors?”

“No, no, that’s the correct wording.” Something still isn’t adding up, though. “He said _I_ rejected _him_?”

“Did you not?”

“Well I certainly wasn’t the one looking at him like he was some sort of freak after finding out he wears a binder.”

Lafayette inhales sharply and stills the apple between their hands. “He did that?”

The disbelief in their tone causes Aaron to almost lose his temper. “Why would I lie about that?”

They look ready to come to Hamilton’s defense before they stop and reevaluate Aaron’s words. “This may explain the behavior of our petit lion.” Aaron hopes that the flinch at “our” is unnoticeable, but one can never tell with Lafayette.

Aaron doesn’t know what his words explain about Hamilton, but Lafayette doesn’t say anything more. They end up eating in peace for a little while, Aaron with one eye trained on Lafayette as they devour their apple and begin to nibble on the core. When only the stem is left, they push away from the table.

“This has been lovely, monsieur,” they declare, “but I must confess I have a class soon.”

Aaron stands with them. “Well this was a... pleasant talk.”

“Yes,” Lafayette says. Then, with a smile that is more teeth than anything, “Let us not meet like this again, anytime soon. And do not worry about our Alexander; I will take care of him.”

Aaron isn’t sure whether or not he should be worried. Then, he remembers the way Hamilton had looked at him that night before grabbing his stuff and leaving. _No,_ Aaron thinks, _Hamilton can take care of himself._

\---

No one attempts to ambush Aaron again, and he’s grateful when midterms hit in earnest. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t notice the glances that Hamilton’s friends give him when they think he isn’t looking; he’s just gotten good at ignoring them. And if his grades are a little lower than average because of the absence of his study/debate partner, well that’s his business.

“What are you gonna do for the weekend, Burr?” Madison asks him after their last class of the week.

“Schedule a play date with Hamilton?” Jefferson cuts in.

Aaron doesn’t dignify his comment with a response, especially since Jefferson knows that he hasn’t so much as seen the other man for three weeks. “I’m going to catch up on all the sleep I’ve skipped this week and hopefully finish Franklin’s paper.”

“Good plan.”

“Any of your own?” Aaron asks, really for the sake of courtesy.

“Stocking Thomas’s fridge with more than just Kraft’s mac and cheese.”

“I resent that,” Jefferson responds, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm around his boyfriend’s waist.

Aaron feels slightly nauseous at their typical display of affection, but he refuses himself a moment of introspection as to why. It’s not like Jefferson never gets into PDA with Madison, and it’s not like Aaron has never been around to witness it. It’s just... inconvenient now, is all. Jefferson has shifted the conversation to discussing a party he had heard about from someone going on this weekend, but Aaron finds he’s having a hard time focusing on anyone’s words.

“I think I’m going to start on that sleep part right now,” he says, suddenly, cutting through Jefferson’s sentence.

Madison and Jefferson turn to him in surprise. “If you say so,” Madison says carefully.

“You do look kinda worn out,” Jefferson adds.

“I’ll be fine, just need a quick nap before I start this paper.”

“Yeah, can’t let _Hamilton_ get the highest grade.”

Madison elbows Jefferson in his ribs, making the man grunt and rub his side. Aaron hopes that nothing about his expression gives him away. He waves goodbye to his friends, and if they notice anything off about his behavior, they’re kind enough not to point it out.

The walk back to his dorm is quick and quiet, mostly because Aaron keeps his head down and tries not to catch anyone’s eye. While he had mainly been trying to get away from Jefferson and Madison, he finds that he actually is tired. Exhausted. He’s debating the merits of taking a quick nap and waking up to work on his paper vs. calling it a day and taking it easy when he gets to his dorm. Aaron isn’t really paying attention as he steps in, but when he runs directly into something hanging from his ceiling, he jumps back.

“Happy Birthday!” a banner proclaims proudly, only half hung by a few pins on the wall.

And suddenly, Aaron is wide awake as he takes in the colorful streamers, balloons, and confetti strewn across his small dorm. Just like the banner he had run into, many of the decorations were birthday-themed, with little sparkly presents and sweets printed onto their surfaces. But none of it made sense to Aaron, since his birthday was in February and it was now mid-March. The sound of someone cursing snaps him out of this train of thought, though, and he pushes past the big banner to see Hamilton, himself, standing at his desk and trying to cover a cake with enough lit candles to pose as a fire hazard.

He looks... just as exhausted as Aaron feels, with large bags under his eyes like darkening bruises and his long hair escaping his hair tie. He’s in a sweater that probably belongs to someone else because it’s a few sizes too big, and Aaron catches him nervously picking at the sleeves where it covers his fingers. Every part of Hamilton screams _uncomfortable_ , from his wide eyes to the slight hunch of his shoulders, and this image simply does not compute in Aaron’s mind with the backdrop of what appears to be a surprise birthday party in the making.

“What is this foolishness?” Aaron asks, and immediately, he knows he’s made the wrong choice. He’s startled and tired and he’s not at all composed, so whereas any other time he’d be able to control it, now an accent curls around his words in incredulity. Both he and Hamilton freeze.

“Was that—?” Hamilton starts.

“No,” Aaron tries to backtrack.

“But that sounded like—”

“ _No!_ ”

“I didn’t know that you had an accent!” Hamilton exclaims.

“There are a lot of things about me that you, apparently, don’t know.”

Hamilton rears back as if struck, and his sweater sleeve catches on one of the candles on the monster cake. He doesn’t seem to notice when the fabric starts to burn. Aaron is in action before he can even think, snatching Hamilton’s hand away from the cake. He gives a startled yelp, but once Aaron starts to frantically pat down his arm—or maybe it was when the smell of fire became noticeable—he seems to connect the dots and starts to help instead of hinder. When he is sufficiently put out by their combined efforts, they’ve blown out the rest of the candles to avoid future mishaps, Aaron has checked him, subtly, for burn marks—there are none—Hamilton pulls away. Tension settles thickly into the dorm room.

“I guess I deserved that,” Hamilton says. When Aaron simply raises an eyebrow, he continues. “This was supposed to be a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon.”

“Hamilton,” Aaron says as patiently as he can, but Hamilton still flinches back. Belatedly, Aaron realizes that he hasn’t called the man by his surname to his face in weeks. “Alexander,” he tries again, “it’s not my birthday.”

“I know.”

“You could have forgone the candles.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Aaron waits.

“Look,” Alexander huffs, “Lafayette took me to like _five_ different stores and none of them had anything for apologies except for maybe these sad little cards—which is ridiculous because I know that I’m not the only person who’s ever fucked up this badly to need a room full of ‘I’m sorry’ banners—so Hercules suggested birthday stuff over the phone because Lafayette was too busy laughing to help, and I was obviously gonna cross out the ‘Happy Birthdays’ and replace them with something else, but—”

“My class ends early on Fridays.”

“I _know_.”

Alexander settles into sullenness like an embarrassed child, huffing out every other breath and getting soot marks on the rest of his shirt when he crosses his arms petulantly. Aaron can’t help himself. It starts as a twitch of his lips, then an involuntary chuckle, until Aaron has devolved into full-blown laughter that builds from his core. The longer he laughs, the more Alexander’s face drops.

“This was clearly a bad idea,” Alexander says. “I should just go.”

Except Aaron catches his sleeve—the unburnt one—as the man attempts to slink by and pulls them together. “You were trying to apologize, correct?”

If possible, Alexander seems to sink even deeper into himself. “Yeah,” he murmurs, refusing to meet Aaron’s eye.

 _Well, we can’t have that,_ Aaron thinks as his laughter finally simmers down into exasperated fondness. He uses his free hand to coax Alexander’s head up, and when Alexander meets his eyes, he pulls their lips together in a slow kiss. There’s a moment when Alexander tenses, and Aaron wonders if, again, he has misread the situation, that Alexander may have been apologizing for hurting his feels but the rejection still stands. Then, Alexander sighs and melts into the embrace, letting Aaron set the pace, for once, without a fight.

They stay like that for a while, brushing their lips together gently and syncing their breathing until one’s inhale becomes the other’s exhale. Once, Aaron touches his tongue to Alexander’s lips, and he takes in the metallic taste of healing flesh. Alexander had been biting his lips bloody, lately.

Aaron frowns and pulls back, has to catch Alexander when he leans forward too much in search of Aaron’s lips, and rests their foreheads together, instead. “My parents were from Nigeria,” Aaron says, suddenly. “My aunt, uncle, and even my sister still have very thick accents, but I’ve learned to control mine.”

There are questions bubbling in Alexander, Aaron can feel it, but he is pleasantly surprised when Alexander swallows it down. “I’m sorry,” he says, instead.

Aaron smiles. “I know.”

“It’s just, Burr— _Aaron_ —I’ve known you for technically longer than I’ve known Mulligan, Laurens, and Lafayette, but I didn’t even know you had a sister, let alone where your family is from or that you have an accent or that you’re...” Here, he touches the outline of Aaron’s binder through his shirt, and Aaron shivers. “I don’t have a problem with the fact that you’re trans, Aaron. I was just taken by surprise, and I am so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t good enough because of it, or that you had to disclose any information you’re not comfortable with telling me, or that I’d use anything I learned against you—”

“We’ll work on it,” Aaron interrupts, “the communication, yeah?”

Alexander works his jaw like there are still a million things he needs to say in this moment, like he is facing his toughest opponent down in a debate. Aaron sees the internal struggle the man is facing, and it makes him all the more grateful when Alexander simply takes a deep breath and settles back into him. “Yeah.” The silence, this time, is a welcome calm.

\---

Later finds them settled on Aaron’s bed, Alexander smelling slightly of burned fabric and the cake in the corner giving the room a sickly sweet perfume. Aaron hasn’t started his final revisions on that paper for Franklin, hasn’t even thought of it since he first opened up his room door, and Alexander’s phone spent the first hour vibrating with ignored texts and calls. But Alexander is laying halfway on top of Aaron and halfway smushed against the wall, carefully tracing nonsensical patterns into Aaron’s arm as he begins to doze, and Aaron thinks that this is okay.

 “Aaron?”

 “Hmm?”

 “I’ve wanted to be with you for longer than just this week,” Alexander admits, shyly. “Even after you opened your mouth and said Hillary would make a better president than Bernie.”

 Aaron rolls his eyes, but he can’t suppress the wave of fondness that washes over him. To be fair, he doesn’t really want to, either. He’s said more than he thought he ever would so soon to his enemy-turned-boyfriend—maybe? Too soon?—so instead, he hunkers deeper into the bed, pulls Alexander close, and says, “Go to sleep.”

 He can feel Alexander’s responding grin stretched across his clavicle. This, too, is okay.


End file.
